The Dawn Of Sin

4

A heavy steam hood had set down on the gym locker room. The girls groomed their naked, slender bodies after volleyball time. Lorraine, her nipples numbed by the hot water running down her chest cavity, made a single braid of her thick hair and squeezed it tightly.

Daisy washed off the foam, which slid down her long, tapered legs, revealing her maliciously shaved tongue.

"Wow! The shaving on the precious little hole you gave me wouldn't have expected" Lorena laughed. "I bet you did it for Guido."

"But no. I'm rehearsing the dance for the show. The sweat sticks to the bloody pants and causes me a lot of irritation” Daisy excused herself.

"Cute as an excuse. I'll write it down."

"It's the truth. Guido has nothing to do with it at the moment" Daisy said as she came out of the shower.

"By the way, how did he react when you asked him out? Did he drop dead on the floor?"

Daisy looked at her with a veil of reproach.

"Do I ever ask you about your full-back muscles?"

"No. But you should. Then I'd tell you about his biggest muscle…"

"Lorena, come on. Is he really good between the legs?" Daisy giggled in a fluffy cream-colored bathrobe, which she closed with two laps around her waist.

"Seriously. Have you slept with him yet?"

"No, I haven't. Just kidding. You know we've only just met" Lorena specified, wrapping herself in a large towel that she knotted over her lower back. The girl reached the wardrobe with her breasts swaying, proud of their prosperity. Half the schoolgirls were still underneath the showers wrapped in

clouds of steam, and the girls' bodies were flexuous, shiny with soap and water.

The more vain ones lingered to flaunt the splendour of their physicists. Daisy herself took off her bathrobe with a thread of exhibitionism, bowing forward to take her panties out of her purse, showing off her perfect round back.

While the girls who considered themselves less attractive washed quickly.

Only Filippa Villa walked around naked without any problem. Filippa was a tall, sturdy, completely clumsy girl, with a prominent belly, a wild skein of untrained combed black hair, dark, mobile and restless eyes. Filippa was a young civil rights activist, and Daisy sympathized with liberation struggles of all kinds.

The first barricades against the systems established by others had been erected in early childhood. The first to challenge were the dogmas of her parents.

As a child, they told her many fairy tales about princesses, and this often included the presence of a charming prince. The same one to marry once they grew up. It was the recurring nightmare of little Daisy, and of all the lesbians in the world. And Filippa was openly lesbian.

One day, hiding in the clouds of steam, she tried to kiss Daisy in the shower. Daisy, out of curiosity, accepted the kiss. She didn't find anything particularly scandalous about it, except that a moment later she found herself wearing Filippa's body, who seemed to have gone out of her mind with desire. She brutally put his hand between her thighs to touch her.

Daisy pushed her away. Filippa, panting, her hair clinging to her face, sketched out an excuse, and from that moment on stopped bothering her.

Daisy was helping Lorena to fasten her bra when Filippa said something, and then one of the girls started screaming.

The high school girl, a small, chubby blonde girl, was running naked with a cloud of foam stuck to her, shouting at all her mates to get dressed. Other girls started screaming, and they all ran out of the showers. One of them slipped on the wet floor and fell to the floor.

"Barbara, what's going on?" Daisy asked the girl, a shy, skinny teenager, bordering on hyanoresis.

Barbara replied that she had run away because she was frightened of the screams. Daisy realised that most of her friends didn't know what was really going on, but they all screamed anyway, influenced by the reactions of the more exaggerated.

Filippa Villa, who remained calm and lucid, looked out beyond the row of clothes hangers.

"Look up there!" she exclaimed, angrily pointing her finger at one of the air intakes.

"Do you see? There's something…"

"Pulitzer expression, Guido. Big stuff on the hands?"

"Come on, am I that predictable?" Guido replied as he passed Manuel along the east wing corridor of the high school.

"They all saw him. Not just you. It's a freak show. I took a few pictures if you need them."

"Who hasn't? Sorry, but I really have to run."

Guido had to write the piece fast. In front of the school, someone had crashed a pickup into a rusty-coloured Austin and rolled it over on its side. The driver of the car was stuck between the plates. He had been deliberately thrown off the road, and from what little was known, it was a passionate affair. There was a betrayed husband involved, full of anger, threats, insults, and tears of despair.

It was the kind of news that in Cronache Cittadine could have ten thousand views in a day, and for Guido it meant a bonus of thirty euros if he managed not to get the piece

burned. He ran to the literature classroom to get the computer from the cabinet.

Guido had been delegated by the headmaster to stay beyond the canonical time of the lessons. Cronache Cittadine was in fact the most trusted voice on high school performance.

The school headmaster had donated three thousand Euros to the newspaper, just to keep the cultural page alive. No sponsor was in fact interested in culture, but since the school bore an illustrious name, that of Giacomo Leopardi, it was almost a moral duty. And the funding was a breath of fresh air for the online newspaper.

Guido had to warn his mother that he was going to be late. He put his hand in his pocket to get his mobile phone, but all he could hear was the hard bottoms of the fabric. He tried to find it in his locker, even though he was sure he hadn't left it there. He opened the door, moved books and notebooks, went through the drawers. Nothing. It was the second phone he'd lost in a year. That's quite gratifying. The money he earned from it would have been used as a down payment on a new cell phone.

Dark in the face, closed the cabinet and went back to the computer.

He was ready to write about the incident when a link opened without him touching anything.

He started streaming what appeared to be a pornographic chat. On the screen appeared the soft shapes of a girl soaping her tongue, her small, white hand exploring her thighs, her face cut out of the frame.

Like all teenagers, Guido was particularly attracted to pornographic sites. But he was worried about the chat because it started automatically, as if it were the work of a hacker ready to infect his computer.

He was about to close the link, but that soapy girl had something familiar to him. He focused his gaze on that image: the foam covered the young woman's face, and she

reclined her head back to rinse her face and hair in the shower.

ʺNo. It can't be.ʺ

His heart began beating fast in the centre of her chest.

ʺNo, it can be her.ʺ

The girl was exactly her.

It was Daisy Magnoli.

She watched her classmate wipe the sponge on her slender, perfect hips. She noticed that her pubic hair had been shaved, and that she had mischievously tattooed a butterfly on the left side of her tongue.

He saw the hidden slit, the one that disturbed his nights, glabrous and shiny with water. The bald version of Coulbert's world was right there in front of him.

Guido, excited and confused, had an erection. The situation was absurd, almost unreal. He tried to regain control by trying to stay calm. He wondered who might be the author of that film.

He adjusted his glasses on his nose and clicked the ESC button to reduce the screen. Graphics appeared around the video. He realized it wasn't a pirate link.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed, discolouring his face.

The video was broadcast live from a smartphone.

He recognized the number at the bottom of the screen.

It was his cell phone number.

In the locker room, the girls crowded to the far side of the air.

Filippa noticed a small, compact object behind the slits in the aluminium grille.

She would never have noticed it if the vapour condensation on the object hadn't started dripping onto the bench where she had put her things. Filippa never deviated from her habits. That's why he always put his suit, shorts, and volleyball shirt in the same place, folded the same way,

under one of the four air vents in the locker room. She was taking tampons out of her bag when the drip dampened the back of her hand.

She looked up and saw the phone behind the grille, the camera's pitiless eye on the showers.

Daisy grabbed the stool and placed it under the air intake, climbed on it and grabbed the edges of the grille, which came off effortlessly.

Someone had removed the four screws that secured it to the wall. She grabbed the cell phone, version 5 of the Galactic P6. She owned that same model. Her familiarity with the phone's functions helped Daisy to turn the camera off. "Who's the asshole who had fun filming us?" exclaimed Lorena, quickly tucking her blouse in.

"Surely a big bastard or a big son of a bitch” said Filippa who, along with the other girls, had gone behind Daisy's back to get a better look at the phone. The girls were all furious, and they were all consumed with that animosity that comes every time something happens that makes them feel ashamed and embarrassed through no fault of their own.

"Imagine if that bastard had retrieved the cell phone and put it on the net" Lorraine said, imagining disturbing scenarios like ending up in some porn chat room, or in high school kids' cell phones.

"Us walking around naked in the showers… can you believe it? "Tits and asses in the wind for everyone to see. Can you imagine that shit?"

Daisy sat on the bench, grimacing her phone with a grimace of contempt, as if just having it in her hands disgusts her. She looked at the footage with disgust and said, "This is no joke, I'm sure. It looks more like the work of some perverted maniac" she added, "I've got bad news: we were being filmed live.

The panic began to creep up on the girls, even though some of them, underneath it all, got excited at the idea of being

secretly watched. But the more demure ones, and they were the majority, were terrified that the video might go viral. None of them would have the courage to stick their noses out of the house. Daisy reassured them, "If you look closely, you haven't been filmed, so you don't have to worry.

Daisy discoloured her face when she saw who the only girl on film was naked. She hesitated and picked up her cell phone to show her companions the images that were scrolling across the screen.

"See? You're not in any frame. Only… only I'm being filmed. So the fuckin' shit's only on me."

The girls kept quiet. The news lifted them up and they stopped despairing. Their reputation was safe. Some of them kept pretending to care because, anyway, they thought it was right to show sympathy for Daisy. The girl went through the phone menu to find out who it belonged to, assuming it was impossible to trace it back to the owner. No one could be so clueless as to use their phone to perform such an action. Violating privacy was illegal, and in the worst cases, you could even go to jail. Daisy ran her thumb across the screen and read the alphabetically sorted apps: Apps, Calendar, Cinetrailer, Facebook, Games, Weather, Messages…

"Messages. There you go! Now let's see this bastard's texts."

The girls raised the bar.

"Can you tell whose it is?" exclaimed Lorena.

"Wait a second. Here we go. Yeah. I got it." Daisy said, noting that under ʺmessagesʺ there were dozens of texts. She read the most recent ones feverishly.

Hello beast! I'll expect you tonight at nine. I'll bring the beer, you bring the girls! Oh, sorry. I always forget you're a queer. That means I'll settle for beer. Don't be late!

Good morning, Mr. Director. I hope the article it's fine. Otherwise, I'll replace it with a piece of news.

Manuel, I have a review tomorrow. Could I borrow your French dictionary?

Daisy read more messages. With each line, she felt the tears in her eyes rise.

"Well? Did you find something?"

Daisy couldn't respond quickly enough.

"I don't think… I don't…" she slurred, each syllable a painful lament.

"Daisy, are you all right?" worried Lorraine, seeing her pale, her lips trembling, foreshadowing a broken cry.

"The phone, I can't… I can't figure out who’s it is” she lied. "If you agree, I will hand it over to the principal” she proposed, the phrase broken by an inner hiccup.

The girls nodded with a distracted expression of who no longer thought it was their problem.

Daisy finished dressing. She greeted Lorena, who had an appointment with the boy, and headed for the locker room bathroom.

She looked in the mirror to brush her wet locks.

As she watched carefully, she became irritated with herself at the restlessness and suffering on her face.

Guido couldn't have been that important, especially now that he had turned out to be some kind of maniac. She didn't want to cry. That idiot did not deserve his tears. All he had to feel was a healthy pissing off with the bastard. Nothing more.

She put his gym bag over hes shoulder and walked out in slow steps, his phone tightly in his hands, with an overwhelming desire to throw it to the ground.

She walked down the driveway that separated the locker rooms from the school with his head down.

He watched the yellowed leaves rustling on the porphyry tiles. She was lost behind her thoughts, but sometimes she came to her senses, as confused as someone who does not know exactly where she is and where she is going. From

time to time, she simply responded to the greetings of the boys she met.

ʺHi Nico, yeah, that's good. Doesn't it look like it? I'm just worried… no, I'm not afraid to go on tv… ʺ

ʺMy hair? No, no gel, it's just wet…ʺ

ʺYes Rosy. See you at the course…ʺ

So he went back to being a stranger. As he walked down the avenue, he went back to the things he said in the locker room.

"They'll take us for whores … we would be disgraced for life."

"But no, you're more bitches than bitches" she said out loud, just to hear the concept ringing in his ears and be pleased with it. She had been irritated by the hypocrisy of her companions towards her, but at that moment she thought it was pointless to think of them. Now she had to focus on Guido.

She had promised to take the phone in the direction, but she was no longer so sure she wanted to.

ʺCome could she do something like that? Still, he doesn't look like a maniac. Which, however, is not at all reassuring. Usually it's the ones you think are shy and harmless that do these things” she thought.

He was coming out of the high school gate when he heard her voice.

ʺOh, shit she said to himself as he ran towards her with a serious face, as if tormented by anxiety and uncertainty.

"Daisy, I need to talk to you… wait… let me catch my breath” he said, short of breath and bent in two, his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. He took off his fogged-up glasses to clean the lenses, and when he slipped them on again, he saw Daisy's delicate hand holding his phone almost with disgust. She stared at him haughtily, surprised to feel a thrill of satisfaction at seeing his face become earthy.

"Now you're going to tell me you had nothing to do with it."

"It wasn't me. I swear it wasn't. I swear to God. On my family. On everything I hold most dear."

He remarked the expression “On everything I hold most dearʺ staring at her with an intense expression, as if the oath included her.

It seemed sincere to Daisy, but that was not enough to make the disgust she felt for him at that moment fade away. The situation was serious and required a hard, nasty, grudging attitude.

"Who says you're not a dirty peeping tom?" she asked furiously.

"Because I'm not." he defended himself.

"I don't believe you. You guys are all pigs. And you're probably the king of pigs." she said, slamming his cell phone into his hand.

"Daisy, listen…"

"We have nothing to say to each other” she exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Don't you understand? Someone has stolen my phone."

"They stole it! Ah, that's a good one" she interrupted him, waving her hand to end the conversation.

"Wait. Let me finish. Yes, it was stolen. But that's not the point. The point is, there's something weird about it. Look, I want to show you something" Guido slid the backpack straps off his shoulders, put it on the driveway bench, sat down and pulled out the computer.

"I had to write an article when you appeared on the screen" he exclaimed, turning on the computer.

"I saw you in the shower. I was confused and surprised. I thought of a thousand things. Even that you…" he interrupted, unsure whether to be completely honest.

"What did you think?" she replied furiously, sensing what she was implying.

"Okay. I'll tell you. Of all the things, I thought she filmed you on purpose."

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed with disgust.

"Listen. I'm sure you had nothing to do with it. But think about it. How was I to know which shower room you'd get into? After practice, one usually slips into a cubicle on a random basis. There could be people coming in and out, hot water not working, a few broken pipes… too many surprises. So I'm wondering, did your friend film you? I don't believe that either. I'm guessing someone hid my phone somewhere. But how would they know where to point it? There's too many weird things. And that's not all yet…"

She interrupted him in amazement.

"Are you suggesting that I stole the phone myself to put it in the girls' shower just so you could jerk off?"

"No. I'm… I'm not saying that” he replied uncertainly.

"That's exactly what you're saying! You're trying to defend yourself by blaming me. But I'm not you, man. You're perverted on the inside. It's in your DNA. DNA that's miles of shit when you unroll it. You know what? I'm going to the principal. I'll tell him all about it and get you kicked out of school."

Daisy deviated from the gate that led to the exit and walked a long way down the courtyard avenue. She had let off steam. She had been impulsive, furious, pretending not to have heard Guido's explanation, when in fact she had been paying attention to every single word. Her reasoning was unmistakable. No one could know which shower cubicle she was going to wash herself in. But for some strange reason she had preferred to insult him rather than agree with him.

Daisy measured the steps that separated her from the answering machine door without knowing what to do. Behind the glass in the lobby, she noticed the secretary's cotton-clad hair. She did not know whether or not to report the incident. She pointed her glossy lacquer nail at the doorbell, hesitating whether to press the button.

She felt Guido's breath running out behind her, but he didn't turn around, remaining completely on his own.

"You didn't let me finish” he said, staring over her shoulder.

Guido looked pensively at the small, compact computer held in his hands.

"I wanted to tell you that a message came along with the film. A strange comment."

Daisy crossed her arms waiting for him to say what he had to say; she gave him an annoyed look, as if she could barely tolerate his presence.

Guido turned the computer towards Daisy. She looked angrily for the two lines attached to the video, where she was seen sticking her hands between her thighs to wipe her tongue with foam.

Daisy read the commentary and discoloured her face.

Adriano must stop looking for me. Or he'll come to a bad end.

Again, someone was threatening her brother.

Secret file n.3

The editorial staff has received the recorded documentation.

To interview the witness is (omissis)

THE REGISTRATION IS COMPLETE

Noise is caused by the nurse coming in, the sensors on the medical equipment, and the comings and goings of staff outside the room.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Better. The good Lord watches over my martyrdom. Could you please press that button at the foot of the bed? It's for lifting the pillow."

"I don't know if I can do that. Wait, I'll call the nurse."

"Ah, there's Beatrice. Thank you. That's better. Only now I'm a bit sleepy. I don't know if I can tell you everything."

"If you want to rest, I can come back later."

"No. You're keeping me company after all. So, what about that day? It certainly wasn't me. I never thought I'd behave like this. My life is prayer. I pray a lot, you know? I pray all day and think about the church. I spend my life for it, and only for it: Holy Mother Church. And… wait. Before we go

any further, I'd like to know one thing. What do the doctors say? Will I get well soon?"

"Of course you will, don't worry. In fact, I'm sure you'll be home in a few days."

"But they still have me tied up on the cot. The straps pull a bit at my wrists. But it's better that way. "If I get excited, my wounds will open up again."

(The interviewer does not actually have any wounds.)

"There was a lot of death, and we need to figure out what happened that night."

"I… I don't know. If I speak, I will condemn my apostolate forever. The truth will drive me from the cathedral."

"Rest assured. No one will send you away."

"Sure, and… morphine, you say? Do I really get morphine? But you're not hallucinating?"

"I don't know. I think she is."

(He's not on morphine, even though he thinks he is).

"Can you confirm what you said at the church?"

"When the rescuers found me, you say? Those angels were good, you know? I was in a pool of blood. But I was conscious, and I told them everything."

"Could you tell me again? Do you feel up to it?"

"I don't feel like it, but I feel like I have to testify, even if no one will believe me. I think God saw what is hatching under the ashes of our poor country. There is a dark plan, and he knows it. But he can't let men make it right. We need you to intervene. There is an urgent need for his mercy."

"Please tell us a few facts, possibly without trying to interpret them."

"But these are the facts. Then there are the details. And then, don’t be so polite with me."

"Okay. We'll be on a first-name basis. Go on…"

"As you know, I live in the sacristy of the cathedral, which gives me a chance to, you know, live the church. Because I live and feel the church. I have an intense, I would say

physical, relationship with the cathedral. The vaults, the naves, the gilded coffered ceiling, Lotto's painting, because the Madonna and Child is by Lorenzo Lotto, the stuccoes and the frescoes, all things that make faith something material, to touch and venerate. Sometimes, when the church is closed, I pray in front of the altar. I have been suffering from insomnia for years, and that night, I believe around 3:00 a.m., I was on my knees, my hands reaching out to recite a Pater Noster, when I heard a crash coming from the street. Right in front of the church."

"Yes, I remember that terrible accident."

"A person died that night. But I didn't know until later. When I heard the crash, I ran to see what had happened, but I couldn't get out. I tried but… but… but… well, now it's getting hard to go on…"

"Make an effort and try to explain what happened."

"It isn’t easy, boy. The horror of living it is a wound that never heals. However, the door that led from the church to the sacristy had suddenly closed. A squeak, and then a squeak, as if someone had slammed it. I thought it was a joke. Then the other doors closed. Then I was frightened. I was no longer thinking of a joke, but of thieves. If some crook comes into the church, there's stuff to steal, and it's all valuable stuff, you know? I thought it was Alberto, a drug addict who lives in the neighbourhood. He often comes in to steal alms. Anyway, all the doors were locked. The one under the aisles leading to the exit, the one to the crypt, where the saint's remains are. And right there, underground, something happened."

(pause, due to the nurse's entrance. I hide the recorder again. None of the staff in the psychiatry department know I'm here for an interview. The nurse leaves. (I'll resume with questions)

"What happened underground?"

"Something that made me think no more of a joke or Alberto the Larvone. I heard thudding. Deaf and gloomy thumps that froze me, while outside the church I heard the screams, the crackling of the fire, the stench of burning car smoke.

Outside, I could feel the terror of the people in the neighbourhood. But inside… inside the church I could hear those thumps coming from underneath. The pews were moving and jumping and crawling on the marble floor. I thought it was the earthquake again, but it wasn't until later that I heard that there was no tremor.

I had the feeling that what was happening was, like, a license from earthly things. The manifestation of an invisible will. I don't know why, but I realized it must have been something evil. Something far from God. Is the recorder working? Are you always recording everything?"

"It's working, and I'm recording. So the doors were closed. And you could hear these shots."

"That's right. I got scared to death and started praying. As an old Christian I did it in Latin. Agnus Dei, qui toleris peccata mundi, miserere nobis. But recommending me to God seemed to do no good. It was then that an unusual anger arose in me. You see, boy, I presume to call myself a quiet man, a mild-mannered, shy man, that's why I'm ashamed to remember what I did afterwards…"

(There is a pause, it is clearly confusing. He resumes his speech as soon as he regains some clarity.)

"I mean, the point is, why wasn't I in my right mind? Why did I feel crazy? The merciful Lord knows that madness is the thing I pray for day and night. Insanity is a wound of God's will, a wound of thought, and far from the soul, that soul so dear to our God. Madness is not an expression of the evil one. Therefore, if I have to choose, I would like to be insane and nothing else. Do you know what I mean?"

(I nod without comment)

"All right. Let's pretend I'm not crazy. Then, I, the undersigned Simone Pietrangeli, sacristan, man who lives in the fear of God, that night felt obliged to do horrible things. I don't know how to explain it to you…"

"I know you hurt yourself."

"Yes. But the pain, however unbearable, was nothing. It was the humiliating actions I had done before I was scourged, the actions that offended God, that tore me apart."

"Can you go into details?"

"I… I… I can't."

"I'll help you get to the point. On the file, on page 12, and excuse my bluntness, you're talking about masturbation. We're all adults here. We know everyone does it. Men, women, old men, boys and, why not, even sacristan like you. There's nothing bad or so sinful about it."

"Nothing bad? You don't understand. I'm not just a sacristan. I'm a hasty priest. A former priest who masturbates in church, in front of the altar, and you don't see anything wrong with that? A Christian who pulls out his penis and enjoys soiling his sacred vestments with semen. I think that's evil. Outside the church people were dying, I could hear the screams, you know? What about me? What was I doing? I was enjoying it! Enjoying and laughing like crazy. I was the devil who was scarring the house of God. And then I did other things. Unspeakable things…"

(cries)

"Let's look at this from a secular perspective. We have the results of the blood tests. You had a blood alcohol level four times normal. A very high concentration of ethanol. You know what that means, don't you?"

"I beg you, don't put me in front of my responsibilities so brutally."

"Being an alcoholic is not a fault."

"I see where you're going with this. All right, I'll drink. I have a problem with alcohol, all right. But that night, I could

really feel the blows. It was coming from the crypt. They were getting louder and louder. It sounded like the marble floor was splintering.

I remember after I did those disgusting things, I dragged myself to the lectern and read some passages from the Bible."

"Do you remember which ones?"

"I recited a passage from the Apocalypse of the Apostle John. What it says: "And when those thousand years are fulfilled, Satan will be released from his prison and will come out to seduce the nations that are in the four corners of the earth. Then I think I have… God forgive me. I believe I have urinated on the Holy Scriptures. That's when I tried to rebel."

"You spoke of scourging."

"That's right. I used the silver crucifix. I took it from the altar before I started hitting myself. I stabbed myself over and over again. I wanted to get the evil, the sin out of my body. Blood was pouring out from under my torn clothes. I don't know how many times I stabbed my right kidney, turning the crucifix stick into it. The more I hurt myself, the louder the thumps in the crypt got louder. I could hear them getting darker and deafer. This is the last thing I remember."

(He is clearly proven at this moment. A nurse came and waved me out. I stop asking questions.)

"Thanks for everything, Simone. But I'll let you rest now. I'll come back to see you soon, I promise."

"Look, I care, boy. I have a lot of things to tell you. Oh… before you go, let me bring you some chamomile tea."

End of recording.